Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“You have to push it,” a man says.
I whimper, then shove the door open and stumble out. I look left, right, then spot an exit. I fast-walk toward it, trying not to draw any attention to myself, and I shove it open. I step outside and finally collapse with my back sliding down the stucco wall. I flop to my butt, cover my face, and let it all come crashing down on me.
Dani was worried I’d be hurt. I know the hurt will come. Right now, though? Now I just feel numb.
3
JAMESON
“Jameson,’ Nolan says. “What are your thoughts on this?”
“Hmm?” I ask, eyebrows raised. I probably look like the kid in school who gets called on because he’s obviously not paying attention. To be fair, I wasn’t. I’ve been staring at the door ever since that woman barged in.
“Numbers are down,” Nolan prods. “We’re looking for fresh ideas. That’s usually where you come in.”
“Hold that thought,” I say, eyes shifting back to the door where the girl just was. “I need to go check on something.”
“Jameson, we’re on a schedule,” Nolan reminds me.
“That’s the best part of being a boss,” I say as I stand and straighten my tie. “You can tell schedules to go fuck themselves when it suits you.” I wink at my friend, who looks like he’d like to chuck his phone at my head right about now.
Everybody else looks down, clearly unwilling to be caught in the crossfire. I don’t blame them. Nolan is famous for his temper and I’m known for being unpredictable. Together, we make quite the pair of bosses. To them, it probably seems like we hate each other. In reality, I think I am the perfect foil to all of Nolan’s faults. He’s amazing if you set him in a direction and tell him to do something. He’ll keep grinding and doing it as well as he can, but he’s terrible when it comes to changing course or being creative. That’s where my genius comes in. It’s also why he bites his tongue and lets me rush out of the meeting.
Sure, I have no clue if going after her will help the company in any way, but I’m curious. I want to know what had her so worked up.
I step out into the conference hall. I look around for the girl. It’s a big room, but I don’t see her. Then I notice the exit door to my right. She looked like she was in the sort of mood that leads to storming out the nearest exit, so I push it open and head out.
It’s dry and hot outside with a beautiful Arizona view of dead shit and a single, crooked cactus. Just lovely. I shield my eyes against the sun and then notice her sitting against the building beside the door.
She sees me and lets out a strangled yell. “Oh, God!”
“What?” I ask, looking behind me. I’m halfway expecting to see some kind of cougar or something with how terrified she looks. On second thought, I’m not sure Arizona has cougars.
When I look back, her hands are raised defensively. “Please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry I interrupted your meeting.”
“Easy,” I say, stifling a laugh. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come out here to attack you. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”
She gives me a half smile, and damn if that little smile doesn’t feel like the best thing I’ve made happen in a few weeks. She’s also younger than I realized. She has to be in her early or mid twenties, and I must be getting old if that makes me wonder if she’s too young for me at thirty-seven.
She slowly lowers her hands, apparently deciding I’m not about to hit her. “It isn’t exactly my day,” she says, regaining her composure moment by moment. “You coming out here to punch me in the throat would be totally on brand right now.”
“Not in my plans. I promise. I’m just checking on you.”
“I see,” she says. “So you’re some kind of chivalrous gentleman, then? A guy who chases after women in distress?”
I grin. “Gentlemen are overrated, and I’ve never claimed to be one. Besides, the last time I held a door for a woman she told me to stop imposing my masculinity on her. Safer to be a dick, I think.”
That half smile of hers returns, and I can see how I could get addicted to fishing for those. I’ve always liked entertaining people and making them laugh. “I’m sorry,” she says, putting on a show of mock sincerity. “I’ll never call you a gentleman again. And for the record, I don’t mind when people hold the door for me.”
I lean against the wall, admiring her. She has nearly black hair with striking greenish brown eyes that stand out against her pale skin. She’s a woman of contrasting extremes. Dark hair, light skin. Wide forehead, narrow chin. I sense some kind of contrast in her personality, too, but I haven’t spoken to her long enough to put my finger on it, yet. Actually, I think I’d like to put more than just a finger on her.